Mrs Grubb's Apple Pie
by Aemilia Rose
Summary: Merry and Pippin follow their stomachs into mischief. :)


I'M ALIVE!  
  
#grovels at readers' feet#  
  
Yes, I'm finally back. After a vacation, then a broken computer, then lots of homework, then another broken computer, then an orchestra trip, then more homework, and then a computer game that ate my life (anyone else here addicted to Star Wars Galaxies? Give me a tell on Eclipse, my name's Rala #hug#)  
  
I'm really sorry I was gone so long. I'm going to try very hard to get back into the writing swing. I promised I'd never leave a story unfinished, and To Melt a Heart of Ice is nagging at me to finish it. So all of you who have been waiting for that, do not despair! I'll shall get around to it as soon as I can.  
  
So . . . I had tried to write this for a couple of my friends' birthdays. Happy Birthday Lady of Ithilien and Mint Sauce! Yes, I know I'm over a month late! Forgive me! #hugs hugs hugs#  
  
So here it goes: another attempt at humor and fluff. I'm just a little out of practice, but I hope the story doesn't suffer. I hope you like it! #hugs#  
  
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"Mewwy! Mewwy, wait fo' me!"  
  
The son of the Master of Buckland slowed his pace, letting the rhythm of his footsteps fall back from its quick patter on the dusty road. It was dusty indeed, and small clouds of dirt kept forcing Merry to flap his hand in front of his face to avoid getting it in his eyes. His looked down and to his right, where his small cousin was just catching up alongside him, mouth hanging open in gasps for breath.  
  
"Mewwy, you need to slow down!" the tiny hobbit panted, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, "I can't keep up wif you."  
  
The older cousin patted the little lad on the shoulder, "Sorry, Pippin. I'll try and slow it down." He took a few steps at a reasonable stride, glancing questioningly at Pippin, "How's that?"  
  
"Bette', Mewwy,"  
  
Shaking his head, Merry stifled a laugh, "Can't you say my name right yet, Pip? Oh don't pout, it's all right. Though it's a good thing you're not trying to say my full name yet."  
  
"I could so say you' full name!" Pippin insisted.  
  
Grinning, Merry nodded, "Go on then."  
  
"Mewidamo. . .do . . . doc . . ." He trailed off, tripping over his own tongue and revealing a frustrated and bewildered frown.  
  
Not bothering to say anything, Merry simply ruffled his cousin's curls before continuing down the path. For moment Pippin just stood there with his small, pudgy arms crossed stubbornly, but he couldn't stay angry with his big cousin. So he soon broke into a stumbling run, hurrying after as fast as he could. Besides, Merry's promise of what lay at the end of this dirt path was enough to urge Pippin to get there as fast as he could.  
  
As soon as he reached Merry's side, the older boy halted. Suddenly, Pippin's hand was seized and he was dragged into hiding behind a leafy bush. Unfortunately, the tug Merry had given him was a bit too strong, and momentum carried him right into his older cousin before the both fell flat on the ground.  
  
Pippin spit out some dirt that had somehow found its way into his mouth. "What was that fo', Mewwy?" Pippin asked. His older cousin didn't seem alarmed. In fact, he was just calmly pulling himself off the ground and dusting off his jacket. Pippin looked up at him curiously, "What's w'ong?"  
  
"Nothing at all, Pip," Merry grinned, and then pointed excitedly, "Look!"  
  
The little boy's gaze slowly crawled to where Merry's finger was directed. Even before his eyes widened with glee, he knew what was there simply by the scent that reached his nose.  
  
There, nestled into a small green-topped hill, was a cozy hobbit hole. A lazy tendril of smoke curled from the stone chimney peeking out from the other side, and colorful pansies and marigolds were sprouting in the fenced- in gardens. The place had such a feeling of almost forced cleanliness that it seemed to Pippin that even the dry dust from the road was afraid to venture onto that spotless plot of land where even the flowers were laid out in calculated rows and the trees were trimmed to insure symmetry. However much this place piqued his curiosity, Pippin was much more interested in the sensation that tickled his nose so hard it wanted to twitch.  
  
For on the sill of the closest window was a large steaming apple pie, fairly dripping in the fresh, warm scent of newly baked apples. Pippin found himself having to scrub at his mouth to keep from drooling all over his vest.  
  
"See, Pippin?" Merry whispered, his voice quickening with excitement, "I told you Mrs. Grubb always let her apple pies cool down on her window sill. I tell you, Pip, that pie is simply waiting for us to eat it."  
  
And goodness gracious Pippin wanted to eat that pie. His only answer for his cousin was a loud grumble from his stomach.  
  
Pippin stumbled to his feet, pulling at Merry's hand, and repeating fervently, "Come on, Mewwy, let's go! I want some of that pie! It looks so yummy! Mewwy, come on! We'll lose ou' chance! Come on, come on!"  
  
"Woah there, Pip," Merry said as calmly as he could, although he was not altogether surprised at his cousins enthusiasm. He could feel the tingles of excitement running through his own veins - or maybe he was just hungry. Whatever the case, Merry continued quickly, "If you go rushing in there so wildly as you just were about to, Mrs. Grubb will catch you and I assure you that you do not want that. I've heard that she gives the hardest spankings in all the Shire."  
  
That got Pippin's attention. He let go of Merry's hand, and gaped openly with frightened eyes, "She's not gonna spank you, is she, Mewwy?"  
  
"Of course not," Merry said firmly, "because I won't get caught. And even if I did, surely even Mrs. Grubb knows that I'm too old to be spanked. Why, I'm already fourteen and a half."  
  
Pippin's eyes stopped at the verge of tearing up, "You' sure?  
  
"I'm positive."  
  
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Glumly avoiding Pippin's eyes, Merry sat down next to his cousin, flinching as his bruised bottom came into contact with the hard ground. There would be no more doubt as to whether those tales from the other children were true. At the very least, there would not be any in Merry's mind.  
  
When he finally met Pippin's gaze, he was startled to find Pippin pouting heavily at him, "Mewwy, you lied. You said she wouldn't spank you, cause you' fou'teen, but she did anyway. You know that you' Momma and Poppa get mad at you when you lie. . ."  
  
"I didn't know," Merry cut in, staring dejectedly at the ground, "I didn't think she would. And besides, it was only pure chance that she was right there at the window when I tried to take the pie. I would have gotten it otherwise."  
  
"Well then," Pippin said, his voice taking on an oddly protecting tone, "You don't need to get spanked any mo', Mewwy."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Merry insisted, "I won't get spanked again, and I wouldn't give up that pie if it was the last thing I ever did. Just smelling it makes me want to keel over in hunger."  
  
"But . . ."  
  
Merry held up a hand to stop Pippin's excuses, "Hold on, I think I have an idea. And I'll need your help."  
  
The little boy's eyes almost popped out of his head.  
  
"Don't worry," Merry went on before Pippin could speak, "You won't get caught. Now here's what you have to do. . ."  
  
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As soon as Pippin knocked timidly at the door he dived into the bush just off to the side, almost shrieking as the prickly leaves poked at his skin. Thankfully, he was able to stifle it. Prickly leaves were better than a spanked bottom. He ducked his head as he heard the creak of the door opening, and after a moment he raised his awed gaze to the (to most of the children in the area) fabled Mrs. Grubb.  
  
She was about as round as the door was, yet somehow she managed to make her movements seem prim and graceful. That severe, gray dress strained over her bulk, making Pippin wonder why none of the buttons had popped off. Then again, he could not imagine any spot of dust or dirt on her any more than he could imagine a missing button. Sharp narrowed eyes scanned the front of her house. Pippin prayed she didn't think to look in the bush.  
  
Suddenly, a ringing crash sounded from the direction of the kitchen. Mrs. Grubb spun around, closing the door briskly. The very next things Pippin was aware of were the sounds of a loud smack and Merry crying out.  
  
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"Honestly, Pip," Merry pleaded dolefully, not even daring to sit down this time, "I could never have known that a glass pitcher was that close to the pie. It could have happened to anyone." Good gracious, his bottom was throbbing.  
  
"I don't care," Pippin forced his lower lip out stubbornly, "I don't want to twy any mo'. You' ideas haven't been wo'king."  
  
"No, no, no," Merry insisted, patting his cousin's shoulder, "Really Pippin, I've got it under control. I've figured out what was wrong with my other plans. I've come from the same way every time. If I come from a different direction, Mrs. Grubb won't know until it's too late! It's foolproof!"  
  
"That's silly, Mewwy."  
  
Merry crossed his arms and raised a questioning eyebrow at the lad, "And I suppose you could come up with a better plan?"  
  
Pippin grinned one of his most insufferable grins, and shifted his gaze from side to side. "Maybe. . ."  
  
Snorting in amusement, Merry shook his head, "No, Pippin, you stay here. This new plan is perfect. I just know I'll come back with the pie this time."  
  
"Whateve' you say, Mewwy," Pippin mumbled.  
  
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Mrs. Grubb bustled about the kitchen, busying herself by softly spreading a warm honey glaze over some dinner rolls. Her husband was returning tonight from a short trip to visit some kin in the North Farthing, and by the Valar she was going to have a feast fit for a king when he returned. Young Petunia, one of Mr. Grubb's many nieces, had never been a good cook, and the poor soul would be dying for some good food before he returned. That would mean keeping the meal from getting into the hands of some young ragamuffin.  
  
Oh, she was quite aware of her fabulous talent for cooking. In fact, sometimes Mrs. Grubb took extreme pleasure in flaunting her skills before some of her neighbors to put them in their place whenever she thought their heads were growing too large for their hats.  
  
Of course, that was no excuse for the son of the Master of Buckland to try with all his might to get his sticky fingers into her apple pie. Honestly, with his upbringing, the lad should know better.  
  
Mrs. Grubb sat back to admire her work on the dinner rolls. They looked simply scrumptious, as they should. Once she had inspected them, and found them to her satisfaction, she lifted the try to carry it over to the table. She halted halfway there as she heard a dull thud from above. What on earth could that have been? She listened carefully to see if the noise came again. When it didn't, she shrugged and continued toward the table.  
  
She didn't expect to be startled half out of her wits by the appearance of that dratted hobbit lad hanging by his ankles outside her kitchen window, arms dangling and reaching for the apple pie.  
  
Screaming, she dropped the tray, scattering moist, honeyed rolls all over the floor. In response to her scream, Merry lost his foothold above the window, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. An explosion of leaves and flowers flew up as he made contact with the ground. The little urchin had landed in her garden!  
  
"Of all the little rascals, Meriadoc Brandybuck!" She seethed, "you are the worst!" She kicked a dropped honey roll out of her way as stormed outside to give the lad the worst spanking he had ever known.  
  
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Pippin peeked around a tree cautiously as Merry made it back to their hiding spot. Mrs., Grubb sure had lived up to her legendary name. The spanking she had delivered had been so bad the boy was limping. "Serves you right!" She had said, right before slamming the door in his face. Poor Merry.  
  
As soon as the older boy came close enough, Pippin ran to him and threw his arms around him in a clumsy hug, "Mewwy," he whimpered, "I don't want to see you get spanked anymo'"  
  
"Frankly, Pip," Merry sighed, "I don't want to BE spanked anymore either."  
  
"Hey," Pippin said, patting Merry's hand comfortingly, "You just sit. . . stay . . . wight at this spot, Mewwy. I'll go get the pie fo' you."  
  
Shaking his head firmly, Merry told him sharply, "No, Pippin. It's just not worth it. Let's just go back home and grab some seed cakes."  
  
"But. . ."  
  
"Come on," Merry grumbled, not looking back as he hobbling back down the dirt path, sneezing as a cloud of dust tickled his nose.  
  
Pippin pouted as he watched him go. Silly Merry.  
  
Kneeling down, Pippin smeared a bit of the dirt onto his knee. Then, he slowly sneaked a bit closer into the spotlessly clean yard until he was in full sight of Mrs. Grubb's house. Finally, he sat back gripping his dirt- smudged leg with both hands, and began to cry as loud as he could. Tear after tear streamed down his cheeks as he hiccupped brokenly. Years of living with three older sisters had taught him well.  
  
The door creaked open and Mrs. Grubb walked out, concern creasing her forehead. How the Pippin pout worked wonders. "Oh you poor dear!" She exclaimed, bending over him and dabbing his wet face with a handkerchief, "Whatever is the matter?"  
  
"I . . . fell down . . . and hurt my leg!" Pippin sobbed.  
  
"Well, let's get you inside and cleaned up, poor thing," She took him by the hand and led back to the house. "And I know just what will cheer you up. I was saving it for my husband when he got back, but I'm sure he won't miss just one little bit. How would you like a nice warm piece of apple pie?"  
  
The End 


End file.
